A couple of weeks ago, some of my high school friends met up in Bacolod, Philippines for the annual MassKara Festival. To the uninitiated, this is a yearly event is a spectacle of dance, procession and food festivals. Oh, and masks. The highlight would be the street dance competition with people wearing elaborate costumes and well, masks. Its a cultural festival as well as a celebration. Some may argue that it's manufactured via a presidential decree in 1977 to promote regional tourism. To be fair, many of it's counterparts were celebrated before the decree came into affect. It just got the presidential stamp of approval.
So what does this have to do with what I'm writing about today?
Almost, pretty much nothing at all.
Or nearly nothing at all.
I actually haven't been to MassKara, which is to my own embarrassment. Come to think of it, it has been more than as decade since I have seen any of the major festivals in the Visayas Region. Cebu has it's Sinulog Festival, Aklan has Ati-atihan and my home province has Dinagyang. Well, to there is also Halaran in Capiz and Binirayan in Antique, but I was always less familiar with those two. When I was younger, I would always take time to check out the processions whenever they would be televised. It was fun. Probably the closest we get to the New Year's parade in New York. Except with Ati-Ati tribal street dancing. Drums and all.
So, maybe it's nothing like the New Year's parade then.
Dinagyang then. Once a year, the heart of Iloilo City would be a nod to several concer driving zone. All this to accomodate a whole long weekend of festivities. Now, while the actual celebration is a two day event, covering the fourth weekend in January, I always preferred the Ati-Ati part of the celebration. There is the Kasadyahan street dance, where groups, usually schools perform artistic street performances. It was fun, but that always played second fiddle to the main event. Oh, and the food festival. Every restaurant, catering company or hotel would setup and outdoor eatery, inviting people to gorge on the best food there was top offer. And there was a lot to on offer. This would always coincide with the nighly sound system competition whch would result in impromtu discos in the street. I think this has evolved to concerts being staged as well, but I digress. Let's just say the nightly events were a great excuse to go out, eat, drink and be very merry.
But on to the main event.
To the uninitiated, the Ati-Ati street dancing is a competition of teams composed of 50 odd warriors and supporting musicians, primarily drummers. The tribe members are painted in brown, and garbed in elaborate headdress and outfits. The outfits are usually made of indigenous materials (Hurrah for the environment! Just don't ask how these acquired. You may weep.) Most of the tribes are based by town or even high school. My own alma mater Iloilo National High school was a multiple event winner. (Ok, we were in the SCC part of the school, but tenuous connection. And I am proud of the old school. ) The whole tribe would then perform a dance routine to a beat of the drums and whatever accompanying instruments. Usually in various sequences and artistic formations stopping only to cry out praise to the Child Christ Jesus, to whom the festival is dedicated. Oh, and " Hala- Bira!". You will hear that a lot. Did I mention each tribe had to do this about five times at a specific checkpoint.
A long day for them, then?
We could spend hours talking about the cultural significance of these festivals. Protection of regional heritage one might say. We could also ramble on the tenuous religious connections that are lend to each festival. Pagan festival plus religious undertones equals justification to celebrate a festival. Still, as much as my natural skepticism will love to rip these festival apart, I cannot deny that they are just so much fun. But more importantly, it's a great excuse to hang out with friends and family to celebrate.
When I was younger, it was tradition in my family to go to the Dingayang Festival to watch it live. My dad would go to the city before the roadblocks would set in and park our jeepney in a strategic position to watch the Ati street dance competition live. He would then send for us to follow and we would pack a huge lunch spread. We would then get to the site, clamber on to the roof of the jeepney and wait for the parade to begin.
One year, we followed the same routine and got a great position to watch the procession. On top of our jeepney, of course. Pa had as usual, forgotten to shave and to get a haircut. For several months, in fact. At this check point, one of the local radio stations was covering the event, giving live update. It was also being broadcast on load speaker. The pair of DJ's decided to talk about the atmosphere.
"So it looks like everyone has come to watch this year's Dinagyang." DJ 1 exclaimed.
"Ah, yes, everyone has come to town," his partner DJ 2 agreed.
"Even Jesus has come to watch!" DJ 1 continued.
DJ 2, thinking his partner had decided to take a religious spin, droned piously, "Of course, He is always around my friend!"
"No, there He is! On the roof of that jeepney! " DJ 1 proclaimed, pointing.
A couple of hundred heads turned at once, in the direction he was pointing.
He was pointing at my dad.
We all looked at my dad quietly, as we all went red with embarrassment. We waited for my dad to explode in anger.
He looked back at the crowd. Winked. Smiled. And took a sip of his beer.
Back to the party then?
It's been years since I've seen it all live. I stopped going, because it didn't seem worth the effort. I preferred to watch it on TV. Then, even that went to the side. It became all too commonplace, not cool. I always said I would go again, but time continued to pass. Soon, it was all but forgotten.
I always said I would go and watch the festival live again. I know, it might be a tourist trap, but it is a fun event. Even better, when attended with friends and family. Maybe next time, I'll even go to the other festivals. An excuse to go to Cebu for Sinulog! (Not that I need much prodding to go there!)Who knows, maybe I'll grow my hair and beard long again.
Maybe I'll get mistaken for Jesus!
Monday, 24 October 2011
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Avoid pointy objects, alcohol and elevated areas (Part 3)
"Dude, that was eleven years ago!"
There is a real danger of reopening wounds when confronting the past. Usually things that are at least a decade old should be left alone. In the words of a friend of mine, it this event were a kid, it would be in grade school by now. It's a silent movie, only relevant to the time period. But bear with me.
Here's the truth. It is very easy to talk about the good times and the funny anecdotes. It is much different when you realise that you are the villain. Let me make it clear, I acted appallingly, selfishly and over all stupidly in the months following the breakup.
I was an idiot.
I was 19 and I thought I knew everything. I soon learned the hard way that I didn't. That was the sad truth. It nearly cost me one of the most important relationships I have ever had in my life. Ultimately, at time passed I realised what was really bothering me. It was not the end of the relationship (sad as I was about that.). It was not the hole that appeared when it ended either. The problem I had was my feelings for her. I knew how I felt. I knew it was real. I just wasn't sure she believed me.
This is not arrogance speaking here. The problem was that if someone I cared for so much doubted, I began to doubt myself. Someone even asked me why I loved the person so much and I could find the words to answer. Did that make how I felt any less true? Or were these merely the idealistic desires of someone in love with the concept of being in love?
This would lead to a journey that has evolved over the years. I had resigned to not being part of her life. I will even admit to instances of acting immaturely. One minute I would quietly campaign for support for her when she assumed a particular position in of residential governance. Strange how easy it is to freak out a freshman by quietly telling them it would be in their best interest to support her. Later on, I would undermine her authority. I guess I just wanted to provoke a reaction, any reaction. Kind of like when kids tease the person they fancied.
From my last years in university, it became important to me to see her succeed and for her to be happy. I was glad to be cheering at the sidelines to every victory she had. I kept tabs though, breaking out in a smile with every good fortune she had. As much as I desired to be in her company, I moved to the sidelines. I missed the friend I had in her, before all the drama took over. I missed that sparkle that she brought with her, making even the crappiest day brighter. I missed mattering to her, being able to a blessing and not a burden.
But it wasn't about me. When it stopped being about me, that's when I began to appreciate her truly. I began to look to what made her special to me and why I cared about her to begin with. Soon, she no longer became the ex-girlfriend, but became what she was to begin with. The person who made me better and made me want to be better. She taught me more about patience and compassion than I thought possible. That and how to have the most wicked humour around. Slowly, the cold war ended. Mostly, because I stopped acting like jerk.
I once asked her if she loved me.
She said yes.
I said, "that was all I need to know. "
Years later, I was about to leave the Philippines. I asked if I could see her. People knew I was leaving. It was a decision I made painfully and reluctantly. I thought it was the best decision at the time. But I was having issues saying goodbye. I didn't want to let go. I was afraid this would be the last time I would see her. It was breaking my heart again.
We had coffee. Small talk dominated. She could have said no, but she didn't.
As the evening came to a end, she looked at me.
"You really love me don't you?"
"Yes, " I replied.
"Thank you," she said.
In all my years to that point, no one had ever thanked me. I knew then I could leave at peace. I knew that wherever I went, I had a her with me.
In many ways, some of the better parts of me are because of her.
Years later, in the darkest period I have known personally, I reached out for a friend. She was there. I could not have gotten through that time without her putting up with me. I am and will be forever grateful for her patience and compassion.
Idiot as I was. (One day, we'll open that chapter. But not yet.)
A year ago, she dropped by. We had coffee. On rainy day, in a small cafe overlooking the Thames, I told her that I loved her. She told me she loved me. Ten years. She didn't have to to say it. She didn't need to. But it was nice to hear. It was worth the wait. This was not the romantic love of couples. This was the love of people who cared for each other as individuals. A love for the person, without expectation. One true love.
This, I learned from her.
Once, I was 19 and I fell in love.
At the test of honour, I let her down.
I made some poor choices and acted foolishly.
She stayed a true friend, regardless. Much better than I was.
I was her friend.
That's all she needed to know.
For all my faults and weakness, I am truly sorry, E.
I pray I will always be able to show grace and kindness to all those that I love, just as she did.
I hope one day, I can make her proud.
I'll keep on working to make myself a better person. Keep on loving those special to me as true as I can. Without expectation.
Maybe then, I'll be worthy of that one person I am meant for.
Until then, I'll look forward to the days of sharing coffee,
Like old friends do.
There is a real danger of reopening wounds when confronting the past. Usually things that are at least a decade old should be left alone. In the words of a friend of mine, it this event were a kid, it would be in grade school by now. It's a silent movie, only relevant to the time period. But bear with me.
Here's the truth. It is very easy to talk about the good times and the funny anecdotes. It is much different when you realise that you are the villain. Let me make it clear, I acted appallingly, selfishly and over all stupidly in the months following the breakup.
I was an idiot.
I was 19 and I thought I knew everything. I soon learned the hard way that I didn't. That was the sad truth. It nearly cost me one of the most important relationships I have ever had in my life. Ultimately, at time passed I realised what was really bothering me. It was not the end of the relationship (sad as I was about that.). It was not the hole that appeared when it ended either. The problem I had was my feelings for her. I knew how I felt. I knew it was real. I just wasn't sure she believed me.
This is not arrogance speaking here. The problem was that if someone I cared for so much doubted, I began to doubt myself. Someone even asked me why I loved the person so much and I could find the words to answer. Did that make how I felt any less true? Or were these merely the idealistic desires of someone in love with the concept of being in love?
This would lead to a journey that has evolved over the years. I had resigned to not being part of her life. I will even admit to instances of acting immaturely. One minute I would quietly campaign for support for her when she assumed a particular position in of residential governance. Strange how easy it is to freak out a freshman by quietly telling them it would be in their best interest to support her. Later on, I would undermine her authority. I guess I just wanted to provoke a reaction, any reaction. Kind of like when kids tease the person they fancied.
From my last years in university, it became important to me to see her succeed and for her to be happy. I was glad to be cheering at the sidelines to every victory she had. I kept tabs though, breaking out in a smile with every good fortune she had. As much as I desired to be in her company, I moved to the sidelines. I missed the friend I had in her, before all the drama took over. I missed that sparkle that she brought with her, making even the crappiest day brighter. I missed mattering to her, being able to a blessing and not a burden.
But it wasn't about me. When it stopped being about me, that's when I began to appreciate her truly. I began to look to what made her special to me and why I cared about her to begin with. Soon, she no longer became the ex-girlfriend, but became what she was to begin with. The person who made me better and made me want to be better. She taught me more about patience and compassion than I thought possible. That and how to have the most wicked humour around. Slowly, the cold war ended. Mostly, because I stopped acting like jerk.
I once asked her if she loved me.
She said yes.
I said, "that was all I need to know. "
Years later, I was about to leave the Philippines. I asked if I could see her. People knew I was leaving. It was a decision I made painfully and reluctantly. I thought it was the best decision at the time. But I was having issues saying goodbye. I didn't want to let go. I was afraid this would be the last time I would see her. It was breaking my heart again.
We had coffee. Small talk dominated. She could have said no, but she didn't.
As the evening came to a end, she looked at me.
"You really love me don't you?"
"Yes, " I replied.
"Thank you," she said.
In all my years to that point, no one had ever thanked me. I knew then I could leave at peace. I knew that wherever I went, I had a her with me.
In many ways, some of the better parts of me are because of her.
Years later, in the darkest period I have known personally, I reached out for a friend. She was there. I could not have gotten through that time without her putting up with me. I am and will be forever grateful for her patience and compassion.
Idiot as I was. (One day, we'll open that chapter. But not yet.)
A year ago, she dropped by. We had coffee. On rainy day, in a small cafe overlooking the Thames, I told her that I loved her. She told me she loved me. Ten years. She didn't have to to say it. She didn't need to. But it was nice to hear. It was worth the wait. This was not the romantic love of couples. This was the love of people who cared for each other as individuals. A love for the person, without expectation. One true love.
This, I learned from her.
Once, I was 19 and I fell in love.
At the test of honour, I let her down.
I made some poor choices and acted foolishly.
She stayed a true friend, regardless. Much better than I was.
I was her friend.
That's all she needed to know.
For all my faults and weakness, I am truly sorry, E.
I pray I will always be able to show grace and kindness to all those that I love, just as she did.
I hope one day, I can make her proud.
I'll keep on working to make myself a better person. Keep on loving those special to me as true as I can. Without expectation.
Maybe then, I'll be worthy of that one person I am meant for.
Until then, I'll look forward to the days of sharing coffee,
Like old friends do.
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
Apologies! Silence is deafening!
Writing blocks are easy to blame. But I would rather admit to pondering on how to finish a trilogy. I'd rather make a "Return of the King, " rather than a " Matrix Revolution."
Now... back to action!
Now... back to action!
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Avoid pointy objects, alcohol and elevated areas (Part 2)
Ever wanted to have a time machine? I wish I could hop into one right now, go back eleven years, clamber up to that balcony and slap my younger self.
Hard.
I know that hindsight is the most accurate. We gain an impressive amount of wisdom when look at our past actions. We can accurately determine where we went wrong and what proper actions we should have taken.We can always wallow in the "could have, would have, should have," scenarios. But all I can think of when I look at how I acted, how I dealt with the situation is an overpowering sense of anger.
At myself.
I was so self-absorbed, so very selfish. Every thought I had was about how "I" felt, how much "I" was hurting and how lonely "I" was without her. I never at any point thought about her and how she was feeling. It was all about me and my pain.
I pretty much struggled till the end of semester. I was really dwelling in self-pity at this point. I pretty much took up residence in mopeville and melancholy. I wasn't very good company at this point. How my friends even put up with me, I have no idea. Worse of all, I was feeling so very bitter towards her. I couldn't stand to be around her. Even when we passed each other in the hallways, I wouldn't meet her eyes, ever.
I managed to scramble things together to pass my classes by the end of the semester. I then did what I deemed the most reasonable way to deal with my heartache.
I ran.
Or in this case, I flew. On a plane, of course.
Now you have to understand, my parents and I were in a rough patch at this point. I hardly spoke to them while I was in college. I rarely answered their e-mails. A phone call to them was pretty much limited to single word responses. Perhaps a grunt or two. So imagine my mom's surprise when I asked her for a one way ticket to the UK. No questions. She knew something was wrong. All I said was I needed to get away. I never liked asking for things from my parents. It was not the way we were raised. If we wanted something, we either saved for it, worked for it or earned it. We never asked.
My dad just told me to book my ticket.
I wasn't sure what was going to happen. My best friend Paul just said I could stay at his condo when I got back. My roommate Benny said he would see me when I returned. I packed my things into boxes, sorted out my suitcase and waited for the day of my flight. I didn't know what I was thinking. But it didn't hit me that I was really going away until one of my batch mates Alison just stopped me on our last day together. "You are coming back, right?"
I wasn't sure.
I flew several days later. I just had a backpack and a small suitcase with me. Usually trips to England were fun. I think I even got a free upgrade to business class. But I was just full of dread. I wasn't on speaking terms with my parents. I was halfway across the world from the one person who occupied my thoughts. Even as the plane touched down a Heathrow airport, all I could think was that it was going be a long cold summer.
I was wrong.
It was actually quite sunny that year.
Hard.
I know that hindsight is the most accurate. We gain an impressive amount of wisdom when look at our past actions. We can accurately determine where we went wrong and what proper actions we should have taken.We can always wallow in the "could have, would have, should have," scenarios. But all I can think of when I look at how I acted, how I dealt with the situation is an overpowering sense of anger.
At myself.
I was so self-absorbed, so very selfish. Every thought I had was about how "I" felt, how much "I" was hurting and how lonely "I" was without her. I never at any point thought about her and how she was feeling. It was all about me and my pain.
I pretty much struggled till the end of semester. I was really dwelling in self-pity at this point. I pretty much took up residence in mopeville and melancholy. I wasn't very good company at this point. How my friends even put up with me, I have no idea. Worse of all, I was feeling so very bitter towards her. I couldn't stand to be around her. Even when we passed each other in the hallways, I wouldn't meet her eyes, ever.
I managed to scramble things together to pass my classes by the end of the semester. I then did what I deemed the most reasonable way to deal with my heartache.
I ran.
Or in this case, I flew. On a plane, of course.
Now you have to understand, my parents and I were in a rough patch at this point. I hardly spoke to them while I was in college. I rarely answered their e-mails. A phone call to them was pretty much limited to single word responses. Perhaps a grunt or two. So imagine my mom's surprise when I asked her for a one way ticket to the UK. No questions. She knew something was wrong. All I said was I needed to get away. I never liked asking for things from my parents. It was not the way we were raised. If we wanted something, we either saved for it, worked for it or earned it. We never asked.
My dad just told me to book my ticket.
I wasn't sure what was going to happen. My best friend Paul just said I could stay at his condo when I got back. My roommate Benny said he would see me when I returned. I packed my things into boxes, sorted out my suitcase and waited for the day of my flight. I didn't know what I was thinking. But it didn't hit me that I was really going away until one of my batch mates Alison just stopped me on our last day together. "You are coming back, right?"
I wasn't sure.
I flew several days later. I just had a backpack and a small suitcase with me. Usually trips to England were fun. I think I even got a free upgrade to business class. But I was just full of dread. I wasn't on speaking terms with my parents. I was halfway across the world from the one person who occupied my thoughts. Even as the plane touched down a Heathrow airport, all I could think was that it was going be a long cold summer.
I was wrong.
It was actually quite sunny that year.
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
Avoid pointy objects, alcohol and elevated areas.
Relationships are strange endeavour. They are the one field where the smartest person becomes a fool. Everyone has an opinion about just how exactly we are supposed to handle them, but once involved, we will gladly take the rulebook, crap on it, set it on fire and think we are above it all. We all think that our relationship at that point is particular special. It's probably true, from a certain point of view.
But when the curtain falls, how do you respond? All of a sudden, the music ends and the dance is over. I always believed that I knew exactly how to respond. I would be cool and meet it with a wink and a smile.
I didn't.
If you are reading this and were expecting for tips on how to deal with heartbreak, you will be disappointed. This is not a help column. This is a re-examination of my own shortcomings. How do you expect to keep your dignity and rise above it all?
The Philippines.
It was the millennium.
2000.
This was supposed to be the start of a great new year and new century. I was not greeting the new year with any smile at all. It was bad enough I spent most of the holiday season bed-ridden with flu, but ever since I got back things were going wrong. I was not in the mood. The semester had started with great promise, but was falling apart. And it came down to one small event.
My girlfriend and I were breaking up.
I should have seen it coming, but I didn't. A stray word here. An odd look there. You have to understand, this was my first real relationship. This was not a simple ego trip or desire to not be alone. I really cared for this person. She was special. She made me happy. I didn't know how to deal with being happy. For once, someone actually decided to take a chance on me. So I took it seriously. But I never really knew what I was doing. I had always prided myself on having a game plan or a strategy in handling a situation.
I learned the hard way that there was no right way to deal with it. Was I just that naive? Probably so, and very idealistic. Was I just not looking at what was in front of me? Perhaps I chose no to.
I can't remember why, exactly. We had taken a walk and had "the talk." There were some raised voices. Gritted teeth. We stormed back to her dormitory. I kept on delaying each step, trying to buy time. But still we came to the doorway. I said that maybe we should just end this. She said fine.
Then… I remember grabbing her by the wrist as she turned away. I knew that if I let go, if I let her pass through the door, it would all be over. I pleaded with her. I didn't want this to end. But then I looked at her. There was this look in her eyes, pleading me to let go.
But when the curtain falls, how do you respond? All of a sudden, the music ends and the dance is over. I always believed that I knew exactly how to respond. I would be cool and meet it with a wink and a smile.
I didn't.
If you are reading this and were expecting for tips on how to deal with heartbreak, you will be disappointed. This is not a help column. This is a re-examination of my own shortcomings. How do you expect to keep your dignity and rise above it all?
The Philippines.
It was the millennium.
2000.
This was supposed to be the start of a great new year and new century. I was not greeting the new year with any smile at all. It was bad enough I spent most of the holiday season bed-ridden with flu, but ever since I got back things were going wrong. I was not in the mood. The semester had started with great promise, but was falling apart. And it came down to one small event.
My girlfriend and I were breaking up.
I should have seen it coming, but I didn't. A stray word here. An odd look there. You have to understand, this was my first real relationship. This was not a simple ego trip or desire to not be alone. I really cared for this person. She was special. She made me happy. I didn't know how to deal with being happy. For once, someone actually decided to take a chance on me. So I took it seriously. But I never really knew what I was doing. I had always prided myself on having a game plan or a strategy in handling a situation.
I learned the hard way that there was no right way to deal with it. Was I just that naive? Probably so, and very idealistic. Was I just not looking at what was in front of me? Perhaps I chose no to.
I can't remember why, exactly. We had taken a walk and had "the talk." There were some raised voices. Gritted teeth. We stormed back to her dormitory. I kept on delaying each step, trying to buy time. But still we came to the doorway. I said that maybe we should just end this. She said fine.
Then… I remember grabbing her by the wrist as she turned away. I knew that if I let go, if I let her pass through the door, it would all be over. I pleaded with her. I didn't want this to end. But then I looked at her. There was this look in her eyes, pleading me to let go.
So I did.
What did we fight about?
Was it something I had done?
Or was it something I failed to do?
I picked one.
Then proceeded to slam my fist against it.
There was no scream, no groan. Just a silence interrupted by the repeated thumping of my hand against the bark. After a while, I stopped.
I felt nothing.
I then turned around and proceeded home.
The laughter in the background of my dorm sounded only like a buzzing noise. It felt alien. I cleaned my self off and readied my self for bed. Perhaps I would feel better in the morning, I told myself. Yes, sleep. I could hide away there. Perhaps in a dream.
I woke the next day, without rest. Sleep didn't help and dreams had abandoned me. So I crawled to the balcony and sat in the corner. Then I curled up into a ball and cried.
Red eyes. Throat dry. No matter how painful, all the tears didn't seem enough.
I was pathetic. And I knew it.
I could hear my room mates scurry around getting ready for classes. I kept quiet. I didn't want them to know what had happened. I think it was Walter who noticed I was there first. He popped his head through the doorway. We did our nodding thing. He asked if I was ok. I lied and said yes. He nodded back. He got the idea. He went off to class. I went back to looking off into the distance.
It was a long day.
But all I could think about was how much I already missed her.
And that I never really told her how special she was.
And that I never told her how much I cared.
On a side note, I still owe Benny for the tuna sandwich.
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Fondness
Waiting at the train station
Measuring time in coffee cups and sandwiches
Watched you throw your head back in glee
Over an old story
Where I probably made a fool of myself
Somewhere between a drink and laughter,
I found myself in wonderment,
Slipping through the cracks of affection.
Entering into quiet realisation
Of my fondness for you
Until we laugh in chorus,
Wanting your hand to fill mine,
Here, I remain,
Still the boy at the train platform
Waiting for the girl to come home.
Sunday, 2 October 2011
When it rains... we pour! (Part 2)
Have you ever been to a Filipino family's house? Take a look in the kitchen. I bet you will find a whole bunch of canned goods around as well as instant noodles. If it was in the Philippines, that would mean sardines or tuna. It's abroad, it would be lucheon meat, SPAM or corned beef. You might be lucky or unlucky to see the occasional canned squid or lechon paksiw (roasted suckling pork stew). I wonder if they still sell the latter?
The reasoning is quite simple and actually very sound. It's all about being prepared for natural disasters. If you look even further, there would probably be flashlights (torches for you British readers), spare batteries and candles. I would mention lighters and matches, but that would be a given. Any family that has grown up with the number of typhoons we went through, you would be remiss not to take precautions.
It doesn't mean you can truly be prepared for what comes. There are two things that you look out for, the wind and the rain. The wind is unpredictable. It's not just the speed, but it's the sudden changes of speed and direction that can be worrying. When you are in the eye of the typhoon, it is when it is most scary. It is completely calm. It might even be sunny for a while. But when you look up and the clouds begin to gather, it is the silence that is most troubling. Because when the wind begins to pick up, it doesn't stop. It keeps going on and on until it literally screams. There were moments when growing up in the farm where the sound of the wind was eerie. At night you prayed for morning to come. In the day time, you closed your eyes as you saw buildings and other structures torn apart bit by bit.
What was scarier, seeing the aftermath or seeing it happen right in front of you? One of the first typhoons I went through I remember peering out the window with my cousin Nati. We were living in a flat in the suburbs back then. We were watching this small wind mill over at a nearby house. We looked on fascinated as every couple of minutes, a fan would start dropping off. We started making a game of it as to how long it would take for the next to go. Only one was left in the end, still spinning on it's lonesome. At the end of every storm, we would pile into the jeep and go for a drive around town to see the aftermath. I remember being in shock to see my school after one particularly strong typhoon and find half of the trees uprooted. A century of living nature, gone. Still we would ride on. Morbid curiosity, I know.
Then there is the rain. Sometimes you may wish for stronger winds and less rain, because while it may sting, it would be less damaging to the crops. We did and still do reside on a farm remember? But when it just rained, it seemed to go on forever. My dad got so tired of the flooding that would happen, he raised the foundation of the family home to what most people thought ludicrous proportions. No one laughed later on when the floods began to go higher and higher. So much so that during the worst of the floods, our house would resemble a small island in the middle. Little wonder that some of the people would take refuge in our house at times.
I was reminiscing with my brother several days ago over one occasion. We decided to make the most of the waterlogged area around us and went on to make a raft. We got some bamboo and tied it all together, got a long pole and made like a gondola. We took to the flooded outskirts, moving steadily along. That was until a section of the raft started coming apart at the seams. My brother yelled at me to grab the section and keep it together. I did the first thing that came to mind.
I jumped off the raft and waded home, leaving my brother with the sinking raft.
He dragged the remains back to the homestead, only to find my dad waiting for him. I duly popped up behind my dad feigning ignorance. My dad duly laid into us for doing something very irresponsible and dangerous. He would have grounded us, but since we were stuck at home and there was no electricity, it would have been a moot point.
We woke up the next day, the house still surrounded by high waters. We looked for our dad as he seemed to be missing. After a while, he came around... on a raft of his own making. He had taken some banana plant stalks, tied them together, then nailed a sheet of plywood on top for a platform. He had taken his raft for a spin all morning, even going to the local bakery to pick up some freshly baked bread.
We still got a lecture on proper raft construction.
But we did go for a ride later.
The reasoning is quite simple and actually very sound. It's all about being prepared for natural disasters. If you look even further, there would probably be flashlights (torches for you British readers), spare batteries and candles. I would mention lighters and matches, but that would be a given. Any family that has grown up with the number of typhoons we went through, you would be remiss not to take precautions.
It doesn't mean you can truly be prepared for what comes. There are two things that you look out for, the wind and the rain. The wind is unpredictable. It's not just the speed, but it's the sudden changes of speed and direction that can be worrying. When you are in the eye of the typhoon, it is when it is most scary. It is completely calm. It might even be sunny for a while. But when you look up and the clouds begin to gather, it is the silence that is most troubling. Because when the wind begins to pick up, it doesn't stop. It keeps going on and on until it literally screams. There were moments when growing up in the farm where the sound of the wind was eerie. At night you prayed for morning to come. In the day time, you closed your eyes as you saw buildings and other structures torn apart bit by bit.
What was scarier, seeing the aftermath or seeing it happen right in front of you? One of the first typhoons I went through I remember peering out the window with my cousin Nati. We were living in a flat in the suburbs back then. We were watching this small wind mill over at a nearby house. We looked on fascinated as every couple of minutes, a fan would start dropping off. We started making a game of it as to how long it would take for the next to go. Only one was left in the end, still spinning on it's lonesome. At the end of every storm, we would pile into the jeep and go for a drive around town to see the aftermath. I remember being in shock to see my school after one particularly strong typhoon and find half of the trees uprooted. A century of living nature, gone. Still we would ride on. Morbid curiosity, I know.
Then there is the rain. Sometimes you may wish for stronger winds and less rain, because while it may sting, it would be less damaging to the crops. We did and still do reside on a farm remember? But when it just rained, it seemed to go on forever. My dad got so tired of the flooding that would happen, he raised the foundation of the family home to what most people thought ludicrous proportions. No one laughed later on when the floods began to go higher and higher. So much so that during the worst of the floods, our house would resemble a small island in the middle. Little wonder that some of the people would take refuge in our house at times.
I was reminiscing with my brother several days ago over one occasion. We decided to make the most of the waterlogged area around us and went on to make a raft. We got some bamboo and tied it all together, got a long pole and made like a gondola. We took to the flooded outskirts, moving steadily along. That was until a section of the raft started coming apart at the seams. My brother yelled at me to grab the section and keep it together. I did the first thing that came to mind.
I jumped off the raft and waded home, leaving my brother with the sinking raft.
He dragged the remains back to the homestead, only to find my dad waiting for him. I duly popped up behind my dad feigning ignorance. My dad duly laid into us for doing something very irresponsible and dangerous. He would have grounded us, but since we were stuck at home and there was no electricity, it would have been a moot point.
We woke up the next day, the house still surrounded by high waters. We looked for our dad as he seemed to be missing. After a while, he came around... on a raft of his own making. He had taken some banana plant stalks, tied them together, then nailed a sheet of plywood on top for a platform. He had taken his raft for a spin all morning, even going to the local bakery to pick up some freshly baked bread.
We still got a lecture on proper raft construction.
But we did go for a ride later.
When it rains... we pour! (Part 1)
It's the hottest weekend in October for nearly a century. Having the weekend off for once has it's benefits, especially when being able to write this in the garden. But I feel a twinge of guilt as well. All this sunshine is in sharp contrast to the stormy weather that is hitting the Philippines at the moment. It seems that the only time that country makes international news is when something bad happens. And with an average of 20 typhoons hitting the archipelago a year, it is somewhat a certainty.
Here in England, it is commonplace to complain about the weather. About how it rains all the time. How cold it is. How it is better abroad. Having lived abroad, I know just how green the grass just is on the other side. For all the sunny days in the tropical climate, the stormiest days are truly terrifying. Especially when witnessed firsthand. It is quite ironic that the name of the weather bureau in the Philippines is PAG - ASA ( Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration) which is supposed to mean "hope" in Filipino. We usually though of any news reports from them as "impending doom" to be honest.
Still, it was not always doom and gloom. It was always surprising when PAG-ASA would get it wrong. Now Typhoons are generally classified by Signals no. 1 to 3, depending on the wind speed. The higher the number, the greater the destructive power. Now there is the Signal no. 4, which is the designation for the Super typhoon. It is very rare that this is ever used.
So it came as a surprise one day while in elementary school, that the report was raised of an impending typhoon that was on its way. In response, my school decided to take precaution and send all the elementary students home. My brother was in high school then and I had to wait for him to be released by his teachers. I waited at the elementary building with a friend of mine and came to a decision. I looked up to the darkening skies. I watched as the gentle breeze started getting stronger. I was going to do the first thing that came to mind in the face of a storm brewing in the horizon.
I went off to play computer games.
Yes, while everyone else was worrying about the oncoming winds and rainfall, people panic buying canned goods and covering their windows with plywood, I decided to blow some cash playing Street Fighter 2, Mortal Kombat 1 and Dragon Ball Z.
Hadouken!
Finish him!
Kamehameha!
My brother knew exactly where to find me after he was left off from class. And what did he do?
Kicked my butt in the games for the next hour or so .
We did get home a lot later. My dad did get a little ticked off that we did not get home sooner. We had to do all our chores pretty quickly and settle down for the night.
And the typhoon?
It never arrived.
Here in England, it is commonplace to complain about the weather. About how it rains all the time. How cold it is. How it is better abroad. Having lived abroad, I know just how green the grass just is on the other side. For all the sunny days in the tropical climate, the stormiest days are truly terrifying. Especially when witnessed firsthand. It is quite ironic that the name of the weather bureau in the Philippines is PAG - ASA ( Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration) which is supposed to mean "hope" in Filipino. We usually though of any news reports from them as "impending doom" to be honest.
Still, it was not always doom and gloom. It was always surprising when PAG-ASA would get it wrong. Now Typhoons are generally classified by Signals no. 1 to 3, depending on the wind speed. The higher the number, the greater the destructive power. Now there is the Signal no. 4, which is the designation for the Super typhoon. It is very rare that this is ever used.
So it came as a surprise one day while in elementary school, that the report was raised of an impending typhoon that was on its way. In response, my school decided to take precaution and send all the elementary students home. My brother was in high school then and I had to wait for him to be released by his teachers. I waited at the elementary building with a friend of mine and came to a decision. I looked up to the darkening skies. I watched as the gentle breeze started getting stronger. I was going to do the first thing that came to mind in the face of a storm brewing in the horizon.
I went off to play computer games.
Yes, while everyone else was worrying about the oncoming winds and rainfall, people panic buying canned goods and covering their windows with plywood, I decided to blow some cash playing Street Fighter 2, Mortal Kombat 1 and Dragon Ball Z.
Hadouken!
Finish him!
Kamehameha!
My brother knew exactly where to find me after he was left off from class. And what did he do?
Kicked my butt in the games for the next hour or so .
We did get home a lot later. My dad did get a little ticked off that we did not get home sooner. We had to do all our chores pretty quickly and settle down for the night.
And the typhoon?
It never arrived.
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